Cold as an Ishaval Summer
by raikouplush
Summary: These are short stories of the little written about time during the Ishvalan war. I am marking as complete as updates will be sporatic and each story is complete and a different chapter. Rated M for safety and war crimes. Any OCs will not have a recurring role.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: This has not been beta read but I have made edits before I began work on a new short story. Sorry for those who were thinking the second upload was a new short story. Expect that in the next few days. - 28/04/2020_

"Sir," a gentle voice called across the alchemists dreams. "Roy, you are being summoned. You need to get up."

Grumbling at the awakening, State Alchemist Roy Mustang snapped his eyes open. The sun had not even crossed the desert skyline, but the beginning tinges of pink in the sky showed that it was somewhere near five am. The sun rose much faster in Ishval than his home country of Amestris and being sent to the war zone had thrown off his natural clock. Looking around through fuzzy vision Roy pinpointed the source of the voice. Next to his bunk was a camouflaged young woman with a massive rifle. Her hand was resting on his bare shoulder which explained the single patch of warmth.

"Roy, the Photon Alchemist has gone missing," the woman whispered. "The Furher himself has sent orders."

Quickly realizing that this was not to be a social call the Flame Alchemist snapped to alertness. If the leader of Amestris had sent orders that meant that the situation was serious. His orders were normally given by a Colonel or occasionally a General, the fuhrer only got involved in calls of the utmost security and importance. Grabbing his uniform jacket from the side table he swung his feet out of bed and into the waiting boots. He trusted that Riza had shaken them to remove any scorpions and it seems she had. With a cursory swipe at his messy hair, Roy followed his now silent companion out of the small one person officers tent. The woman was almost impossible to make out against the dark shifting sands but he knew what to look for. Riza Hawkeye had been a childhood friend and recognizable anywhere with his trained eyes.

As the two strode across the cold desert path Roy buttoned his jacket and tried to smooth the wrinkles. After the mission yesterday he had been too tired to fold the blue jacket with its saddle skirt and had instead thrown it over the table in his quarters. Though the endeavor was clearly not going to come to fruition the alchemist continued to try. The Furher, leader of the country, was not someone you showed up to with a messy outfit. the faux pas was ignored oft enough in the war-zone of Ishval, and out of uniform was common enough that most commanders had to learn to identify their soldiers on sight. Central was a different story, and with the Fuhrer came his rules.

"Head on in, I will wait outside," Riza whispered as she vanished into the sand around the disguised command tent.

A small black dot was the only sign that someone was in the dune, but you could not even see the end of the rifle unless you knew exactly what you were looking for. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Roy strode into the tent with the most confident and serious look he could muster. If he was being sent on secret mission it was undoubtedly for a body, or deserter, to be destroyed.

* * *

"Riza where are they," Roy called over the gunfire as he carefully balanced the broken body of a small male alchemist over his knees. "We are taking heavy fire!"

Had this been a normal day Roy would have simply blasted the damned Ishvalans with a snap. Though his control was near perfect and as such he rarely hurt himself there were now others to think of. The alchemist he had gone in after was breathing faintly, every gasp weak across Roy's knee as his uniform grew wet. Somewhere in the crumbling dirt floor above was Riza, sniping individual targets. A surrounding blast was out of the question for that choice. A blast was too risky, the shock wave could hit either of his companions.

Thinking quickly Roy went over his other options. If he attempted a lancing blast from his one free hand there was a chance the edge of it would hit the critically injured male. Fire was unpredictable, even with Roy's incredible talent. It tended to move at its discretion and would spark off at random intervals. With no idea if the man had any incendiary material on him that was also a negative. The alchemist was knocking on deaths door as it was and taking any gambles with his health was ill advised. That left only one option. He needed to wait until the Ishvalans were grouped up and let out a single concentrated blast. This was risky as there was still a blow black shock wave, but it would take out all adversaries at once instead of multiple blasts that would destabilize their cover.

"They are three meters out," Riza finally called from somewhere distant. "Packing up. Now is your chance!"

Cursing at the close range Roy knew he did not have a choice. If he did not act now there was a chance that Amestris would lose all three of them to enemy hands. With a swift movement, the Captain curled himself around the unconscious male and let out a forgotten philosophers stone boosted snap.

* * *

"Ah, glad you could make it this early Captain," a jovial voice said from the desk at the other end of the tent. "Please come in!"

With a crisp salute Roy strode confidently into the command tent. It was quite full for being so early in the morning, with no less than four high ranking alchemists waiting. He knew they were alchemists from working with them during the last six months. Solf Kimblee was sitting on some boxes, tattooed hands kept to his sides as he stared at the Furher. Alex Louis Armstrong and Basque Grand were holding a hushed conversation in the corner while Tim Marcoh was standing nervously next to them. It was clear that Roy was the last to arrive and while this would normally put a person on their guard, Roy was a master of tact and knew how to roll with this. Snapping a roguish smile at Marcoh, he ignored Grand's angry huff and waved politely at Kimblee before settling against the central tent pillar.

"Now that you have all been assembled I have a mission for you," Fuhrer King Bradley said as the conversations died down and his tone changed to serious. "Late last night one of our alchemists was kidnapped during an investigation. Somewhere in Ishvalan hands is the Photon Alchemist. He has far too much information to be left in their hands and he or his body need to be recovered."

"If it is a rescue job why did you summon Mustang and I," Kimblee interrupted seriously as he adjusted his white fedora. "I can understand Grand and Armstrong but we are destruction based. And Marcoh never leaves HQ. Who is this Photon alchemist anyways?"

As if summoned in a transmutation, an aide darted in through the tent flap doors. He did not stop to gawk at the gathered might in the room but instead slammed some papers on the Furher's desk. With a crisp salute the aide about-faced and ran back outside. Grabbing the papers Bradley pulled five from the top of the stack and held them out.

"This is the Photon Alchemist," Bradley stated as each person in the room walked forward and grabbed an offered paper. "I summoned all of you due to your identifying looks. If he is still loyal he will recognize you and want your aid in returning home. If he has defected then you are all in a position to kill him."

Looking at the offered paper Roy realized that he recognized the person. The small dossier stated that the Photon Alchemist was actually named Leo Sunwright. His grey hair and blue eyes were identifiable anywhere. This was the investigator that had stood at Mayes Hughes side many times when he and Roy had met in the last few months.

"His greatest ability is being able to turn invisible to human eyes," Bradley continued after everyone had a few moments to read the paper. "He is one of the only alchemists assigned to Investigations. With his near eidetic memory he is a great asset. Captured, he is a dangerous liability. If you find him still loyal get him home. If not, kill him. Either way, kill all nearby and make Ishval regret kidnapping one of ours."

With a cold feeling in his stomach growing Roy understood why this particular team had been assembled. They, as a group, had the strongest firepower of the Amestrian Military. This was not going to be just a rescue, but a genocide. Looking around the room Roy could see that both Kimblee and Grand looked excited. Kimblee was actually laughing while Grand was staring at Marcoh as if he knew exactly why he was there. When the Flame Alchemist met Armstrong's eyes though he saw sadness. The large man was a military officer but like Roy he saw being an alchemist as a burden. He felt no joy in slaughter or genocide and only fought to protect his own family. This was protecting their own, but in a subtle way they were being ordered to kill anyone, civilian or military that stood in their way.

"Last word was that he was being held in one of the mountain outposts," Bradley said as he rose to his feet. "Take whomever you need and get the Photon alchemist home. Marcoh, give them the stones."

* * *

"Captain," a voice called from somewhere beyond the rubble that trapped Mustang. "Captain can you hear me? Roy, please answer!"

Coughing from the large amount of dust that choked the limited air, Roy realized that he could not immediately respond. That blast had been much stronger than he had anticipated. Marcoh's stones seemed to work far too well. He had only meant to take down the gathered group but his explosion had leveled the building that he and Hawkeye had been hiding in. If that had only been the blow back, what had he done to the people?

"Captain Mustang," a familiar voice boomed. "If you can hear us try not to move too much. Grand and I are going to lift the rocks pinning yourself and the photon alchemist! The ground is very unstable."

A jolt of surprise ran through Mustang as he recognized the voice. That was Armstrong. But how was he and Grand here? They had been nowhere near each other having been separated when the group had approached the massive mountain city. Their intel had said an outpost but on arrival the area had been incredible in size. The group had been forced to split for ease of searching, each of the five alchemists taking a sector about a mile in diameter. _How was he here_, Roy wondered foggily.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness Roy realized that he was not still in the building. There had been a small subterranean cavern under the house and, during the explosion, the ground beneath must had given way. He was lying at an odd angle and the lack of pain from the twenty foot fall seemed to indicate shock. The small streams of light coming through the blocked entryway was enough for Roy to look around his tiny prison. The area was, if he were to guess, ten feet long and seven wide. As he glanced around the cavern without moving his head Roy stopped on a small form huddled in the far corner. Though he could not clearly make out the features he knew without a doubt that it was the Photon Alchemist, and that he was dead. Though Roy had miraculously landed on stalagmite that had shattered under his weight Leon had not been so lucky. A thin but sturdy one skewered his chest while a large stalactite had dropped from the ceiling and penetrated through his hip and into the ground below. By the look of the area, they were in an empty cistern, a water storage for the desert region.

The blood beneath the body had already congealed, which meant that Roy had been in here quite awhile. As that thought hit he began to shiver. It had definitely been shock delaying the sensations and possibly a concussion; as normally the Flame Alchemist would have realized the moment his Pyrotex gloves had gotten wet. As his mind slowly began to clear Roy realized exactly how lucky he had been. He had not found the seemingly only delicate stalagmite, but had also landed in a slowly flowing and shallow river that had broke his fall just as much as the shrub that was stabbing uncomfortably into him. _So the cistern isn't completely empty. Well, at least I didn't drown_ Roy thought to himself as he contemplated the wet gloves.

"Captain, if you can hear us I order you to respond," Colonel Grand's voice roared over the sound of shifting rocks. "Do you have the Photon Alchemist?"

Realizing that he would have to stand and yell for his voice to be heard the Flame Alchemist attempted to rise. The rocks down here would make his voice echo, but would make his word inaudible. The moment he shifted his lower spine though was the moment that Roy realized he was much more injured than he had thought. The sudden searing pain caused him to cry out, and in an effort to relieve the pain Roy let his upper body drop back to the muddy shoreline of the slow river.

His scream of agony must have been heard Roy thought as he heard the sound of shifting rocks become swifter. It seemed that no matter how many they shifted the rescue was not getting any closer to freeing him though. The light was not growing any brighter and the already limited air of the cavern was only growing thicker with dust. The unseen voices of the alchemists seemed to realize his plight and paused their frantic clearing efforts. The distant voices above argued for a moment, and then a large flash of red light nearly blinded Roy. Shutting his eyes against the pain he heard a loud groan of earth and bright light flooded into the cavern.

"Captain," a scared voice yelled much louder than before. "Oh God! Captain don't move. Stay still."

Biting back a snarky comment about how he wishes he could, Roy let his eyes adjust to the blinding light as his gaze drifted back to the photon alchemist. Now, with bright light streaming through the perfectly cylindrical hole, he could see the other man clearly. Leon looked worse than he had at first glance. It was clear though that he would have died even without the stalagmite running through his chest. Hundreds of small burns and deep cuts ran though the alchemists body turning the once beautiful Amestris blue uniform into tatters. One large gash ran from upper chest to lower stomach, revealing inner layers of the dermis and in some parts, bone. It was clear that torture had been used in an attempt to get information. One of the man's light grey eyes was missing, the lid now open showing just an empty socket while his open jaw showed many cracked or missing teeth. It was a horrible death for such a kind man who had once given Roy his only jacket in the winter due to the Flame Alchemists own burning during training.

Leon in general had been too kind of a soul for the military though he wore the uniform with pride. He had used every pay to obtain uniforms and schoolbooks for children of deceased soldiers to attend school. He also bought their surviving parents food if they were struggling. Those whom lost both parents lived in his ancestral manor on the outside of the city. The familial money as well as his alchemic invention patents went to his high school sweetheart wife who lived at the mansion and helped to raise the depressingly large number of parent-less children. If he remembered from talks with Hughes, they had been expecting their first little boy in a few months.

"I didn't break." The last words Roy had ever heard his classmate speak ran through his head as if on repeat. The man had been near death when he had drug him from the underground cell after murdering the guards, stopping only to cauterize the worst of the bleeding wounds for travel. "Roy, I swear I didn't break."

"Roy, slow your breathing," a gentle voice whispered from next to his head. "Marcoh is coming down."

The voice snapped Roy from the memories of his old classmate. Blinking rapidly he tried to focus on the face above him. A few stray strands of blonde hair drifted into his face and as he tried to shake his head to remove them he realized he couldn't. Two hands were keeping his head firmly in one position. Every attempt to move was met with gentle counter pressure and a mutter to "stay still" and "relax". Blinking a few more times to clear the dust he realized whom he was staring at. Riza's tear streaked face was focused on his. The normally unshakable sniper's eyes were red and a few stray tears still dropped onto his forehead.

"He has a few burst disks, broken spine, fractured leg and cranial hemorrhage," a male voice also said rather quietly. "Good job on stabilizing his head. Lieutenant please stand back so I can work. He will be alright."

With a quiet sniff Riza disappeared from Roy's vision. She was replaced by a black haired man with silver streaks who had a very serious look on his face. In his hands was a glowing red stone that pulsed and flowed like a trapped liquid. As the stone neared, Roy swore that he could see faces and hear agonized screams coming from it. When he would recount this to Riza later in private, she would say that it was due to his injury with a pitying expression. Without any delay Marcoh placed the stone on Roy's chest, beneath cupped palms and activated his alchemy. The pain of bones shifting back into place forced Roy into the welcoming darkness. He knew now that he was safe and would be debriefed later. As he sunk into unconsciousness Roy subconsciously tightened his left hand over a broken silver watch with a LS carved into the dragon.


	2. Chapter 2

**_AN:_** Heads up to all, this topic may be a bit triggering. Setting the rating of the stories to Mature because of it. Contains mention of _Suicidal Thoughts, War Crimes, PTSD _and _Violence_. If this may trigger you please do not read, your mental health is more important than a fanfiction. I apologize for the late update and hope yall stick around. I have been dealing with a lot IRL and did not want to turn out sub-par work. Y'all do not deserve that. I will be writing and updating when I can but right now I am focusing on a re-write of Pass on Heroes, and will not be posting until it is done.

* * *

_Walking through the rubble covered streets that once ran through the bright streets of Ishbal, Roy Mustang let his gaze dance across the fields of destruction. Shots rang out across the battlefield, cries for a medic in Ishbalan and Amestrian as soldiers lie wounded and dying across every surface. His rifle had run out of bullets a few minutes into the firefight, his gloves fingertips worn to their last threads as the fight raged on. Turning his head to the left, he can see Major Comanche dancing amongst the Ishbalan soldiers with his silver skin glittering and arcing with red electricity. His maniacal laugh was audible even at this distance as a sword in his left hand severed the head of a wounded soldier and a brace of shuriken in the right sent a fleeing woman flying to the ground. The silver Alchemist was as brutal as ever, not bothering to discriminate between enemies or cowering civilians._

_To his right and down the narrow alley was the mercy hospital, and newly promoted Brigadier General Basque Grand. With the red sparks that identified the use of a stone Roy stared numbly as the tall man turned into a massive abomination of weapons. Towering over the swarm of enemy soldiers and families alike the General crowed in delight as he let loose. Bullets of all shapes and sizes were shot out from the hundreds of chambers that covered his body. Without a care for the fact that these were injured innocents and fighters alike he turned what had formerly been a place of peace and mercy into a bloodbath. Roy was unable to do anything to stop the madman, his own alchemy being just as destructive. As the screams of fear and pain from both locations rapidly silenced Roy turned his attention to his own target._

_Ahead of him was some of the worst fighting with Amestris falling back. They had been fighting Ishbal over this section of the city for days, the religious sector being seen as key to not only breaking the enemy defenses but their spirits as well. Both sides had long ago ran out of bullets and were engaged in a mix of hand-to-hand and bayonet warfare. This gave the Ishbalans the upper hand as they knew this part of the city well, and left the Amestrians with little choice but to split into teams to attempt to clear each building. This tactic had been an unmitigated disaster, causing Roy to be summoned and given a ring by a tired and heartbroken Marcoh. Even now, as he stood at the best vantage point with the power of God in his hands, Mustang hesitated. He had his orders, he knew that his job was to destroy this sector rather than let it be recaptured but something inside of him was screaming that if he did so he would turn into the monster that Kimbley and the others had become._

_"The Flame Alchemist is here," was the battlecry that reached his ears as Mustang stared across the battlefield. "Flame, help us!"_

_The rallying cry caused the Amestrian soldiers to fight harder, the battle raging but still clearly lost. As the fierce fighting raged outside the war inside his own mind raged. Should he save his own soldiers a painful death and end the fierce fighting or let them have hope? Should he walk away now and disobey orders? Flee like Marcoh had said during a sleepwalking episode the night before when he had held a gun to his lips and stared at the stars? Should he take his own life and end the destruction? Pray for forgiveness and attempt what would never be equivalent exchange for all the lives he had been forced to take?_

_Even as his mind was swirling Mustang's hand was raising, his gloved index finger glittering with a simple silver band set with a single bright red stone as his fingers poised for a single snap._

"Hey Mustang, are you still with us," Maes asked joyfully as he poured a shot of whiskey. "It has been awhile since you have flirted with anything."

A whimper was the only response that he had received to the comment, turning the tall spy into work mode and putting Maes on edge. He had known that Roy was drunk but to be unresponsive was an issue. He was dressed in his fatigues, gloves still on. To attempt to remove them now would mean a subconscious fiery inferno. On full display sat his silver pocket watch, the chain holding the expensive alchemical enhancer attached to his slightly disheveled coat. The neatly trimmed hair was the only thing poking out from folded arms sitting on the bar, it also slightly off kilter.

"Roy," Maes whispered as he leaned down to whisper in his friend's ear. "Buddy, are you ok?"

To anyone else in the bar this may seem like harmless banter between two war buddies, not uncommon these days with the declaration of Amestris success in the Ishbal campaign and soldiers arriving home by the train full. Even on a moonless night such as this, it was not uncommon to see the dive bar full of soldiers boasting or mourning losses. What was uncommon was seeing the silver watch of an alchemist prominently on display of a near-unconscious man whose friend seemed far too happy for what his eyes showed. To a casual onlooker the golden-eyed fellow was simply drunk, his cheeks rosy and his movements slightly off kilter. But to the eyes of Chess, it was a well trained act. The golden eyes were too sharp behind the wire frame glasses and the waving motions were too direct, as if to subconsciously ward off others.

Making a note to keep a close eye on the other patrons, Chess nodded to his lass to flip the sign in the window to Closed a few minutes early. He had been in business long enough to know that nothing good came from a drunk alchemist. The government would unhesitatingly pay for the damages, but without another one here there would be no one to contain him. With that thought in mind, the bartender made his way into the back to make a phone call, hoping that the man's friend could help keep him in line long enough for support to arrive.

"And this is my fiancé Gracie," Chess heard the drunken friend call out loudly. "She said yes, Flame! You are gonna be best man right?"

_Everyone was dead. Man, woman, child, soldier. Both sides. Everyone was dead._

_His target had been the religious center but he had not been told that it had also been acting as a refugee center. It had been housing those who could not fight or those who had lost their homes. Children without parents and elderly without families to help support them. Everyone in need had been welcome and given food and shelter in the temple without question of nationality or stance of the war and he had been sent to destroy it._

_As the Flame Alchemist stumbled across the still smoking remains of what had once been a guilded place of worship he stopped. Under his feet and rubble lay a small hand, half the size of his. Its skin was burnt to a crisp, breaking into bits as the wind blew across the newly opened window where a large wall had once been. Not for the first time Roy was happy that he could not see the full body of a victim of his great power._

_This was one of the last standing buildings, the only one to withstand the onslaught that the stone had helped him unleash. Its golden tiles had melted into puddles of slag, precious jewels that had been carefully placed now resting in the cooling puddle. The sandy floors that had been so carefully arranged had turned to molten glass had now cooled. The giant ceiling tiles and beautifully painted walls of clay had simply exploded from the heat. The destruction of the temple dedicated to Ishbal was complete in every sense of the form, along with all children and elderly inside. Thankfully the ceiling tiles and walls were covering the massacre, as the Flame doubted that he could stand to see another._

_The crunching of glass behind him signaled the arrival of another, though the alchemist could not bring himself to care. If it was an Ishbalan come to finish him off he deserved it. If it was an Amestrian coming to retrieve him, then his job was done. Either way he would soon be released from his job here. He would never need to return. Only then would the innocent souls he had been forced to take possibly find forgiveness._

_"Good job Flame," a giggling voice said as a piece of rubble tumbled, pushed by said boot. "Showed these traitors what they deserved for messing with Amestris. Of course, your explosions do not match up to mine but they are quite beautiful to watch either way. You may have just won us the war, hero."_

"No Kimbley, I didn't mean to," Roy muttered into the wooden bar. "I didn't know. Please, don't call me a hero."

Looking at his friend with concern now, Maes sighed. It was clear that what he had intended to be a night to forget had turned into a night to remember. He had done all in his power to make the memories vanish. He had bought the best whiskey, shown the best and most tasteful pictures of Alicia. He had paid for good food and had even made some requests of old friends for some women to come by and attempt to entertain his friend. Instead, Roy had once again fallen into his own mind. Back to the war he would never leave behind.

"Hey Roy, please don't go there," Maes whispered comfortingly as he rubbed his now quietly sobbing friend's shoulder. "You are home, you are safe."

Looking around to see that the bar had cleared out and the proprietor was watching nervously Maes sighed and rose to his feet unsteadily. This was not the first time this had happened but it would definitely be the last. The great Flame Alchemist deserved more than the rumors and gossip that came from these situations. From now on, it was drinking at home. Taking a moment to straighten his hat Maes sighed as three armed guards walked in, escorted by one Major Louis Armstrong. It was time to go, and time to stay up until the sun rose once more to write another report for why a bar in Central burst into flames once more.


End file.
